


The Light of Dawn

by orayofsunshine



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x03 spoilers, F/M, Post battle of Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 15:52:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18641254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orayofsunshine/pseuds/orayofsunshine
Summary: She kept her gaze forward, choosing to look at the faces of the living. She had heard whispers of who had made it through the night and who had not. She would rejoice for the living and mourn for the dead later, but now, she had other things to do.There was one person that she had not heard of yet, and she refused to look for him among the dead.------------post Battle of Winterfell





	The Light of Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> All the Gendrya in season 8 is giving me LIFE. I haven't written for this ship in so long and I'll probably end up writing a fic that is way longer than it has any right to be, but for now here's a short little drabble. This isn't beta-ed and was written between an extensive post GoT group chat with my siblings and frantically trying to finish online homework before 11:59, so please be gentle if there's any mistakes. I'll edit eventually (that's a lie) 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!
> 
> Edit: literally 20 seconds after posting I realized that there were big spoilers in the description and I don't want to be That Asshole Who Spoils Things, so I un-spoilered the summary. You're welcome.

It smelled like death. 

Gendry had told her that, the day she questioned him in the forge about what their enemy to come was like, and he had not lied to her. All around the ruins of Winterfell, there was death. Pools of blood and ash covered the surface of the courtyard she had ran around and played in during her youth. She never could have imagined then that it would be brought to rubble one day, filled with the groans of the dying. 

Arya walked carefully through the wreckage, chest still heaving as adrenaline coursed through her veins. Her throat still felt impossibly cold from the hand that had been wrapped around it just minutes before, colder than anything she had ever felt before, but she reminded herself to keep breathing as she took slow, even steps through the courtyard. She kept her gaze forward, choosing to look at the faces of the living. She knew that her brothers were alive, as was Sansa, Brienne, and the Hound. She knew that the last of House Mormont was gone, with the lady of the house dying as she lived: fearless and screaming, an appropriate and honorable death for the young warrior. She knew that Theon was dead, dying to protect the very boy he had once pretended to slaughter. 

There was one person though, that she had not heard of yet, and she refused to look for him among the dead. 

She found him right where she expected for him to be, sitting by the forge fire, head hung low as he studied his hands. He was dirty, covered in grime, sweat, and blood, but he was breathing and in one piece, and that is not something that could be said for everyone that had fought in the battle. Her heart pounded in her chest as she crossed the forge to where he was sitting, taking his cheeks gently in his hands. He jerked slightly at her touch, eyes wild and wide for a moment, as if he were still on the battlefield. They softened when he realized who was in front of him, and he quickly pulled her into his arms, wrapping one large arm around her back while the other hand gently cradled the back of her head. 

“You’re alive.” He whispered into the skin of her cheek, pressing his lips to her sweaty skin in a firm kiss. The touch made her skin crawl, yet also feel like it was on fire. She wasn’t used to a man’s touch yet, having only experienced it once only hours before the battle began. What she was familiar with was pain, and loss, and suffering. She was more comfortable with a staff whipping across her back than then gentle glide of a man’s rough fingertips, and she wasn’t sure quite what that meant for her. 

“I’m alive.” She repeated, pulling back to look at his face. It was dirty and more defined than it had been when they were children, but it was still him. It was still Gendry. 

He huffed out a laugh, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face, but freezing when his eyes fell on her neck. He tenderly rubbed the frostbitten hand print that was seared into her skin, and she hissed in pain and jerked away from his touch. 

“Don’t.” She warned, brushing her hair back and pulling her collar up to conceal it as best she could. 

“What the hell happened?” Gendry asked, his dark eyes filled with worry as he examined her skin. She wanted to hide from his gaze, but she couldn’t stop him from looking as she took a deep breath. 

“The Night King.” She said slowly, watching as his face morphed into a look of horror. “I killed him. He got me by my throat, but that’s all. I’ll be alright.” 

“Seven Hells, Arya. You’re going to be the death of me one of these days.” Gendry said, shaking his head and pulling her close, gently kissing the skin of her bruised neck. 

“Not today,” She whispered with a ghost of a smile on her face. “Not today.”


End file.
